Et tu, Brute? You poor thing, you!

Jack wrote a blog post about Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street. That’s what he said on Audioboo. And I hadn’t heard that song in the longest time, so I’m glad that Jack reminded me of it.

What was interesting to me when reading and listening to the comments about Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street, was the hurt, anger, and pain that pours out when people talk about it. But not me. The paradox is interesting.

Been there and done that. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. And I am not afraid that it will happen all over again as it did.

Bob Dylan isn’t singing something I don’t know.

My heart has been broken, but I’m still around and I’m still doing what I do. Whatever that is. But it has a lot to do with being me, discovering me, and my profound enchantment with the beautiful, the good, and the true. With love, hope, and faith. God. And then some.

Beauty surrounds me, insists, presses me to surrender to it like an enemy could only dream to do me.

That sucks for you- whether or not you are conscious of the suck. You feel it existentially – regardless.

Because it sucks to be pitied as I pity you, Brutus. Nothing is worse than that – speaking existentially.

Sometimes, I am afraid.

Yet I’m not afraid of you, Brutus – you who plot and scheme to take from me what I am more than happy to give to you in my wealth of spirit. Most of the time, you just gotta ask. Really!

This fascinates me. That you didn’t ask for something and you thought you had to take it by force or cunning. Most of the time, I allow you to get away with it. In other words, you steal from me by my permission and consent. Rarely, am I the fool you imagine me. And there’s more than a few of you I could have put in prison. Or the hospital. Or…

But the untold and immeasurable profit, in fact, was mine. Even when it hurt so bad that I had to wonder for a moment, like Hamlet did, whether not being was much better than being. Because I am learning how to forgive and that, my friend, is the hardest thing.

That’s something that can’t be taken nor given. That you can’t buy at any price – not with all the gold, treasure, wisdom, or kisses from the four corners of the world.

I do not write now with contempt. Nor do I seek to avenge past wrongs by gloating. Be sure of that, dearest Brutus.

This, I believe, is the greatest insult and the greatest gift: Love.

That I thrive in love in the face of outrageous insult, misfortune or injustice. That I grow less afraid to love a Coyote’s humanity regardless of the demonstrated lack of it.

Oh-oh-oh, how my heart goes out to you! For you lack love and that emptiness must burn forever in you like a black hole. I don’t ever want to stand in your shoes, Brutus.

To quote the other Jack (Dr. Jack King) who quotes the Navajo:

I have been to the end of the Earth. I have been to the end of the waters. I have been to the end of the sky. I have been to the end of the mountains. I have found none that are not my friends.

I am not there. I do not stand at the ends where the skies open endlessly to an eternity of beauty and humility. But every injury and blessing takes me one step closer to wonderful.

You have given me so much, spotted Hyena. And I am not always grateful. But oh how beautiful I am – when I can be grateful to the spotted Hyena. As a son of God is grateful for all blessings: hammers and all.

In fleeting moments, you have made me feel myself – dizzy in the Glorious. Forever. A child of God. And for that, I am deeply in your debt.

……
Here’s the lyrics to Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street:

You got a lotta nerve To say you are my friend When I was down You just stood there grinning

You got a lotta nerve To say you gota helping hand to lend You just want to be on The side that’s winning

You say I let you down You know it’s not like that If you’re so hurt Why then don’t you show it

You say you lost your faith But that’s not where it’s at You had no faith to lose And you know it

I know the reason That you talk behind my back I used to be among the crowd You’re in with

Do you take me for such a fool To think I’d make contact With the one who tries to hide What he don’t know to begin with

You see me on the street You always act surprised You say, “How are you?” “Good luck” But you don’t mean it

When you know as well as me You’d rather see me paralyzed Why don’t you just come out once And scream it

No, I do not feel that good When I see the heartbreaks you embrace If I was a master thief Perhaps I’d rob them

And now I know you’re dissatisfied With your position and your place Don’t you understand It’s not my problem

I wish that for just one time You could stand inside my shoes And just for that one moment I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time You could stand inside my shoes You’d know what a drag it is To see you

Stan Faryna

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It’s ironic that we will often resist beauty and take arms against it as it was our greatest enemy. Those who are happiest and luckiest submit to it as readily as they submit to a long awaited and much desired kiss. But not I. For I am stubborn and self-defeating like that – anally retentive as Sigmund Freud would say. [grin]

I thought of you, Carolyn. I don’t know why, exactly. I thought of you as I pressed submit and my heart went out to you. You have never done me wrong, but you have done me so much right in your warm encouragement and comments. Thank you…

I could… I really could do things to enemies of my past. I listened too to Dylan after JackB posted that video. Spent an hour or more surfing Youtube and catching up with the man.
I walked away from a crowd that didn’t know what they said they knew, and my existence made that all too obvious when I spoke.
I had invested years…
I walked away.
I stand in my own shoes, always have. Of course I tinkered with the shoes others wore; but the fit well didn’t fit…
I find comfort in this song of Bob’s, he belongs to all of us doesn’t he?
I don’t mind them, I don’t miss them, I don’t try to keep up with them, I am too interested in other things now to look back at them.
Billy